The snow had almost melted in the city, leaving grit embedded in the icy pavements. Yet the cemetery remained blanketed—though the drifts had sunk under days of rain. Annie wandered the snow-covered paths between the headstones, searching until she found her parents’ grave. They lay side by side, though her father had died in a car crash when she was in Year 10.
The iron railing enclosed both plots. Her mother had passed three years ago. Annie had chosen a photo for the headstone where they looked the same age—just as she remembered them from when her father was alive.
She’d retired now, left her London flat to her son’s family, and returned to her hometown two days ago. After tidying the house, she’d come to the cemetery that morning.
“Forgive me, Mum,” she whispered, brushing packed snow from the stone. “I had to leave. I couldn’t stay. Thank you for understanding—for not holding me back.”
She lingered a moment longer, whispering farewell, then retraced her steps through the maze of graves. Head down, she followed the path toward the gates.
“Annie?” A voice called from behind. She stopped, turned.
“Are you talking to me?” She studied the unfamiliar older man.
“Don’t you recognise me? It’s me—Alex Gordon.” He smiled, and then she remembered.
“You’ve changed,” she said, returning the smile.
“I knew you straight away, though it’s been…” He hesitated, counting the years. “Thirty.” He stepped closer.
“Thirty-two,” she corrected.
“You haven’t aged a day. Visiting your parents?” He nodded toward the graves.
“Yes. And you?”
“Olivia.” His gaze shifted away.
“Olivia’s gone? How long?” Annie frowned.
She bore no grudge. The hurt had faded long ago. Now, she only felt pity.
“Six months. Cancer. It was… hard.” His voice wavered. “Now it’s just me.”
Annie glanced at him. Had he stifled a sob? No—just a heavy breath. His face was calm, composed.
“We never had kids. So it goes. What about you—are you here alone?”
“Just me. Retired, left the London flat to my son, came back.” She left out any mention of a husband.
They reached the gates.
“I’ve kept you—you were on your way somewhere,” Annie said.
“Just walking back from Olivia’s grave. I’ll visit Mum another time. If I let you go now, you might vanish again.” He gave a wry smile.
“There it goes,” she sighed, watching the bus pull away from the stop.
“I’ve got the car—let me drive you.” Alex gestured to the row of parked vehicles.
She didn’t want to talk, didn’t want his company—but standing alone by the cemetery felt worse. The car was cold when she climbed in. He started the engine, the heater humming to life. They passed the cemetery fence, the empty snow-dusted field earmarked for future graves, the rows of terraced houses. Annie had never understood how people could live so close to the dead.
“All these years, and I still don’t understand what happened,” Alex said suddenly. “When you left, I was wrecked. But why? What went wrong?”
Annie stared at him.
“Olivia told me she was pregnant. Found out later she’d lied—she couldn’t have kids. But by then… too late to walk away. She went mad when she heard you’d left with her fiancé. Chased you to London for revenge. So why did you run, Annie?”
“You still don’t get it? I didn’t care who I left with—I just had to get away.”
“What?” He turned sharply, the car fishtailing on the wet road.
And Annie, sparing neither herself nor him, began to explain.
***
They say one friend always loves more than the other. With Annie and Olivia, it had been exactly that. Annie had arrived mid-term at the new school—a straight-A student, instantly disliked.
Olivia, the prettiest girl in class, took her under her wing. They walked the corridors together, shared lunches, traded secrets. Annie helped with homework, whispered answers during tests.
Thanks to Olivia, Annie was accepted. And trailing after Olivia was Alex Gordon—gangly, awkward, ears too big. Olivia laughed at him, dismissive.
“Why do that? He’s decent. You’ll see—he’ll grow into himself,” Annie defended.
“When he does, then we’ll talk,” Olivia would shrug.
They made plans, of course.
“I’m not rotting in this place forever. I’m going to London. Come with me?”
Annie refused. “I can study here. I can’t leave Mum alone.”
“Suit yourself,” Olivia snorted. “If you want to end up like your beloved mother, fine by me. I’ll marry rich—a millionaire, maybe.” Her eyes fluttered dramatically.
“Because millionaires are just waiting for you,” Annie muttered, though she never doubted it might happen.
Olivia was stunning—blonde, tanned, with dark eyes. A figure most actresses envied. And men, as they say, love with their eyes.
University never happened. Olivia went to hairdressing school. Her father’s rule—no London without education.
“Annie, visit me there. The girls are awful—all claws and competition,” she complained.
“You should come back here,” Annie said.
“Never.”
Annie’s mother raised her strict. No makeup, no nonsense. Before school dances, Annie would rush to Olivia’s to dab on mascara—always wiping it off before going home.
“Be self-sufficient. Men come and go. With an education, you’ll never need one,” her mother warned.
She wasn’t wrong. But at seventeen, careers were dull. Annie envied Olivia’s freedom, her London escape.
Then one day, she bumped into Alex. Fresh out of the army, broader, taller. The ears still stuck out, but somehow it suited him.
He walked her home, asked her to the cinema. Soon they were dating. Alex got a job driving the mayor—slick suits, a company car. A year later, he proposed. She asked to wait till graduation.
The mayor wrangled him a flat. Annie stayed late often, sometimes overnight.
Then, coming home from the cinema, they ran into Olivia—glossy, polished, nothing like the town girls.
“Annie!” Olivia flung her arms around her.
“You look like you stepped out of a magazine,” Annie breathed, inhaling expensive perfume.
Then she saw Alex’s face. Not just interest—awe. Olivia prattled on—her wedding, the designer dress from Italy…
They went back to Alex’s flat, bought wine, laughed over nothing.
“You’ve done well for yourself—handsome, with your own place,” Olivia purred, trailing a finger along the bookshelf. “So when’s the wedding?”
“Three months—after my finals,” Annie said.
Alex looked away. *She’s engaged too—she never even liked him*, Annie told herself. But her chest ached.
Two days later, Annie finished an exam early and headed to Alex’s. She let herself in with the key he’d given her. Her mother was away visiting family.
She’d bought wine, steak—planning a surprise dinner. Then she saw the heels by the door. Just like Olivia’s.
Laughter from the bedroom. His laugh—and hers.
Annie edged the door open. Alex lay half-covered on the sofa, eyes closed, smiling. Olivia’s head rested on his chest, her hair trailing over his skin as she giggled.
Annie’s stomach twisted. She fled, stumbling down the stairs, tears blurring her vision. Strong hands caught her.
“Running from a fire?” A man’s voice—warm, amused.
She sobbed into his coat. He led her outside, handed her a handkerchief.
“Who hurt you?” he asked gently.
And she told him.
“He *never* liked her—she’s engaged to some rich bloke, bragging about Italian dresses. Why would she—?”
“Your friend—Olivia, by any chance?”
Annie froze. “How did you—?”
“She told me her mother was ill. Wouldn’t answer my calls. So I came to check. Turns out, her mother’s fine—just pointed me here.” He glanced up at the flat. “So that’s where she is. With your fiancé.”
He sighed. “Glad I found out now. Thought she loved me.” He hesitated. “Pub nearby? Let’s get you calm. Then I’ll take you wherever you need. Or… back to him?”
She shook her head.
In the pub, Chris—that was his name—poured her a brandy. Her head spun, but the weight lessened. He’d come from up north, he said—worked for his uncle’s firm, took it over.
“My marriage was a disaster. Thought Olivia was different. Turns out, she just hunts for the best offer.”
“What about”And with that, she shut the door behind her, leaving the past buried where it belonged.”
